


We let the weirdness in

by lovestillaround



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dissociation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestillaround/pseuds/lovestillaround
Summary: grapes, kisses, and detachment from reality





	We let the weirdness in

“Welcome to Philly’s market. We have apples.”

“Not in the mood for that.”

“Oranges?”

Dan’s head is resting on the kitchen table. His eyes are closed not because he’s sleepy, but because he’s tired. Often, it’s so easy to confuse these two things but today he seems to be more aware of nuanced differences, small things that contribute to his general mood.

“I’ll stain my shirt,” he mumbles, the mental image of sticky fingers and juice dripping down his chin surprisingly vivid in his mind.

“Dan, you can buy a new one for like ten pounds,” Phil says softly but then adds anyway, “Grapes?”

Dan doesn’t answer. He thinks about how Phil mentions money out of nowhere. It’s quite funny, and it almost makes him laugh.

“Alright, then grapes,” Phil decides.

The grapes are red. Dan finds it weird for a moment that they’re called red even though his association with red is totally different than the colour of the fruits in front of him. Red is intense. Red is the colour of blood and of his Manchester university hoodie. Vampire eyes. Or something.

Phil’s fingers comb through Dan’s hair in a gesture that is relaxing and disrupting at the same time, and he continues doing it until Dan makes clear he’s going to sit up. This change of position feels weird, for a moment his vision is still darkened, his brain feels dizzy, and his eyes keep squinting and closing involuntarily. He tries to focus his gaze on the table but its surface is white, definitely too bright, and too homogenic to allow his vision to adjust. Only when he turns his head rights to look at the familiar silhouette of Phil, he starts to see things normally.

Phil reaches out for the grapes served on a plate, and Dan wonders, why did he put them onto a plate? Why not into a bowl? Does Phil want them to embrace the ancient Romans’ lifestyle? Is it weird that he has thoughts like this?

“Did you wash them?” he asks quietly, reaching for the dish and then shifting the plate a bit closer to the edge of the table. For a moment, he has an urge to move it further and let it fall onto the ground, as if he’s now a cat, or a child, or a brat, or whatever.

“Yeah,” Phil answers.

One grape gets detached from the thin branch by the force of Phil’s fingers.

“Didn’t hear that.”

Phil looks at him. It’s a normal, familiar gaze, nothing extraordinary, no signs of worries, or anger, or sadness. Phil is not like Dan, he’s actually so much better at controlling his emotions. Maybe he just naturally has them at bay most of the time. Dan sometimes thinks about it, and also wonders if it’s okay that he isn’t always sure if he knows how Phil feels. Does he have to know everything about Phil? There are parts of their relationship much vaguer than some might imagine.

“Always in your head, mhm?” Phil mumbles and puts the grape into his own mouth. It makes a crunchy sound between his teeth.

Dan watches as Phil’s hands are getting closer toward the plate again, like some white spiders, watches how he snaps one fruit with his long fingers. That’s a nice contrast, he thinks. Everything is a nice contrast with Phil’s pale skin, somehow.

If only he could see the contrast between the redness of his lips and the colour of Phil’s fingers when he puts the grape into Dan’s mouth. He can feel it, a little brush of skin against his upper lip, he just wishes he could see it.

It’s sweet – the fruit, the touch. At least until he bites into the skin of the grape that is bitter and hard, and kind of ruins everything, but grapes without skin would be just awkward. They would be like jellies, and they wouldn’t survive in a natural environment. They need to have a protective layer.

He swallows the fruit, but his mouth needs to stay busy because Phil is kissing him now. He doesn’t taste like grapes, maybe grapes don’t really have much flavour. It’s kind of sad, especially when Dan thinks about the taste of Phil that is much more intense, much more memorable, somehow.

Phil’s hand – the hand that he has used to feed Dan – is now on his shoulder, gripping just a little. Dan wishes he could see it too because Phil’s hands are just so nice, and he might be as clumsy as he wants, but the way he uses his hands is graceful. He opens his eyes only to see Phil’s eyelids. Phil doesn’t know that Dan is trying to observe him, he’s completely focused on the kiss, on moving his mouth in the way that would be comfortable for them both and Dan just lets him do it, follows him, adjusts to his movements.

It makes Phil look so hot, the confidence painted on his face, the confidence that an outsider maybe wouldn’t notice but Dan does. He’s aware that he doesn’t have any basis for that kind of reasoning, because it’s not like many people have seen them kissing. Still, it’s a nice thought to have.

Phil sucks on Dan’s lower lip and then lets it slide out from between his own, moving on to the upper lip in a transit so gentle that Dan almost melts. He shifts on his chair and kisses Phil harder, because this tenderness is something that he can’t stand right now. Moments like these tend to make him feel crazy, completely overwhelmed with some feelings that are just too strong to handle.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid that he wants to growl, just to express how good it feels, how Phil’s body affects him not only physically but in a strange, emotional way. Phil can read him, he can read him so good, and he’s leaning further in, getting as close as he can, but it’s not enough because in this position, sitting on their kitchen chairs, they can only really brush their shoulders.

*

“Closer.”

Dan doesn’t care how whiny he sounds. How desperate he sounds. He puts his arms in the air, trying to reach for Phil, who is currently too busy adjusting his dick. He finds the right angle soon and sinks in again, and Dan would thank him, but he only manages to let out a moan.

Phil looks so good like this, gripping onto Dan’s thighs, bare chest exposed and heaving with every breath, but it doesn’t change the fact that Dan wants him closer.

“Come here,” he says, and Phil leans forward, hovering above Dan’s chest, his weight resting on his arms.

“I’m here. I’m inside you.” Phil knows what Dan means. He knows it very well, but he can’t pass the opportunity to be a tease. He rolls his hips, and a wave of pleasure prevents Dan from talking for a few seconds, so that he doesn’t even have a chance to comment on how awfully bad that remark was.

“No shit,” he grunts when the ability to speak comes back, and this time he decides to wrap his arms around Phil’s back to pull him in closer. “I wanna feel you,” he pleads.

“You don’t feel me? Need something bigger?”

Dan doesn’t even stop himself from rolling his eyes, wondering how it’s possible for Phil’s inappropriate comments to sound inappropriate even while they’re having sex. He needs to apologise to himself straight away, even though there’s no one there who could listen to his inner monologues, he needs to clarify for the sake of his own peace of mind that he’d never give it away, Phil’s dirtiness and him saying dumb things. It’s just that now and then he needs something different than what he receives. Maybe they’re not that good at reading each other after all. Or maybe Phil can read him but won’t admit it because he’s a tease (always a tease, always such a tease).

“Dan, hey.”

His gaze meets Phil’s, but he doesn’t know what to say.

His heart is beating faster, and it’s strange that from all the things he should be aware of, he notices this one first. He still doesn’t say anything, maybe because his mind starts to fill up with self-accusations. He has just zoned out while having sex with his boyfriend, totally spaced out, and how dares he make Phil sound and look like this – so worried – and the worst thing is that he can’t snap out of it, he wants to stay longer in his own head and analyse why it’s happened instead of moving on.

“Are you okay?”

Dan nods without even thinking it through. Phil pulls out of him, slowly, gently, and Dan reaches out to stop him, but it’s for nothing. The only thing he can focus on now is the sudden, unpleasant feeling of emptiness that unreasonably makes him want to cry. It doesn’t help that Phil slides over on the bed and presses himself to Dan’s side, all this skin and flesh don’t matter anymore because he’s empty and his muscles clench around nothing.

He closes his eyes for a moment, attempting to quiet down his thoughts, even though he isn’t sure how it’s going to work.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says, because he always apologises for everything. The only reaction Dan can execute is trying to close his eyes even harder. He’s still trying not to think, not to feel, and not to listen. All his efforts are pushed into regulating his breathing, taking the air into his lungs and out, in and out, in and…

The warm arms wrapped around his chest shift and then they’re gone. Dan knows that Phil’s getting up without looking. He feels how the mattress dips when he sits up, he hears the rustle of the bedcovers and the quiet steps that follow. All this time, he tries to keep it out of his perception, as if Phil didn’t exist, as if they both didn’t exist. He desperately tries to force himself into not analysing why the warmth attached to his side only a few seconds ago is now gone. It doesn’t work. Phil isn’t next to him anymore. He’s gone because Dan fucked up.

After it hits him, he could go on like this, fixating on this irrational fear that every one of his actions leads to a failure, convincing himself, almost subconsciously at this point, that he’s absolutely right in his theorizations. He feels physically shaken, his heart is still beating fast, maybe even faster than a moment ago. The pace of his blood must be so high, and he’d want to control it, even though he knows that this way of thinking doesn’t make any sense.

He inhales sharply when there’s a rustle. His eyes fly open when the sound seems to turn aggressively loud but it’s only a blanket getting half-thrown over him. There’s no danger. Why would there be any danger?

Phil stops, one corner of the blanket still in his hand, and Dan can only focus on how tight the grip is, how it makes the veins on Phil’s hand pop out. Phil stays still for a moment. Eventually, the grip lessens and he lowers the cover, gently lets it rest on top of Dan.

“Sorry,” Phil mutters again and clears his throat. “Just covered you up, babe. You had goosebumps.”

Dan knows, from the _ babe _ alone, that Phil’s trying to act normally, trying not freak out. This pretended casualness would maybe even work if not for the frantic energy he emits.

Dan doesn’t have the time to dwell on that though, as Phil comes back to lie down next to him again. He doesn’t slide under the blanket, he rests his body on top of it. They are so close, but still physically separated from each other, like a sandwich with a layer of cheese between the slices of bread. Dan almost shakes his head at this thought.

Some part of him still wants to touch Phil, lean into him, breathe in his smell and feel his warmth, hoping he could forget about the whole world and his brain would finally become completely empty. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he looks down and notices that Phil has now boxers on. Dan doesn’t even know when he has put them on, or why. Is it to signal that the sex part is over, as if Dan didn’t know that already?

He braces himself to look at Phil’s face, worried that maybe Phil would see something in his eyes that would scare him even more, so he postpones this action, goes back to focusing on his breathing. He doesn’t even attempt analysing his own feelings and behaviour right now – he knows that it would be all for nothing. He’s too out of it – too out of everything – to form coherent thoughts.

“Did I do something wrong?” Phil asks then, and before Dan has a chance to respond, continues, “I mean, I know, I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you. I should’ve been acting normally. Was it that? Did that upset you?”

“Phil,” Dan says, and the word sounds inexplicably long. He doesn’t understand how Phil can think – even for a second – that his appeal would ever lie in ‘acting normally’, and he doesn’t understand how Phil can think that any of it is his fault. “You didn’t do anything.”

He takes one more deep, controlled breath and finally looks at Phil, realising then that the haziness that has overcome him a moment ago seems to be dissolving slowly. The sense of the reality is coming back to him, like a smudged vision clears up after you blink a couple of times.

“It’s just my brain,” he continues, even though what he really wants to say is _ I shouldn’t have had sex with you today, honestly, what was I even thinking, and by the way, I’m sorry for putting misery into your life, I know like no other that you deserve better. _

And like that, he’s lost in his thoughts – again. He notices that Phil stirs, but because Dan isn’t looking at him anymore, it seems like a faraway thing. Everything outside his brain is merely a blur – insignificant. It feels like they’re drifting away from each other, and Dan unreasonably starts to think about gravitational waves. He has read way too many articles that he doesn’t fully understand.

He also doesn’t understand why he’s sinking into his own brain so quickly that the reality is now disrupted. It’s like he’s unable to see anything around him because it all isn’t real anymore. It feels like the echo of whatever the hell is happening inside his skull is bouncing off the walls and coming back at him again, making everything more and more distorted with every passing second. He tries to connect the fragmented images to that science article, desperately clinging to some recollection of the reality, but then it doesn’t seem to matter, as everything that exists are his own thoughts and nothing more.

The worst thing is that at the same time he’s aware that this whole situation - the way his brain his acting, and the way he is acting - is absolutely ridiculous, yet he can’t shake out of this state.

“Dan? Breathe?” Phil suggests, and Dan isn’t sure if he meant for it to sound like a question. He also doesn’t understand why Phil has said that in the first place because he is breathing, but he feels like he doesn’t have the mental or physical energy to question it aloud. He truly doesn’t know if he could open his mouth and make a sound, but he tries not to panic, and tries not to drown in self-accusations again. He knows he’ll be fine, and this whole thing won’t last forever.

So he just breathes.

*

Hours later they’re lying in bed again, and Dan has his face buried in the crook of Phil’s neck. He knows that his breath must tickle but Phil isn’t complaining.

The room is covered in darkness, so that there are not many external stimuli, except for the warmth of their bodies, and maybe the occasional quiet sounds they make. Dan is so keenly aware of the air going into and leaving his lungs, but it doesn’t make him feel frustrated that he now has to put effort into breathing. The fact that he’s in control feels like relief. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://lovestillaround.tumblr.com/post/187218800513/we-let-the-weirdness-in-pairing-daniel)


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